Hot Under the Armor
by Orlissa
Summary: The one where Grant finds Skye's cosplay - the one that was referenced in the pilot -, and it makes him reconsider his stance on cosplaying. (And then they bang.)


**A/N:** This one is for Ves–it's based on two prompts she gave me: Skye and Ward having some fun with her cosplay mentioned in the pilot (although I tweaked this idea a bit), and laughter during sex. I hope you'll enjoy it :) (And please tell me my smut skill didn't go all rusty during my writer's block.)  
 **Disclaimer:** [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.]  
 **Word Count:** 6273  
 **Rating:** M

* * *

 **Hot Under the Armor**

Grant Ward was not into humming–it was just not in his nature, and, to be perfectly honest, he found humming to be annoying more often than not–, and yet he found himself humming some silly, upbeat song (one he must've heard from Skye, he was sure) as he placed his meticulously folded T-shirts into one of the drawers of the old chest that had been, most probably, standing in the room since the fifties. But then again, despite the overall circumstances, he felt rather happy, and this occasion called, if not for a song, then at least for a hum.

He was moving together with Skye–alright, "rooming together" was a more accurate phrase, since all they were actually doing was to claim a room together at the Playground as the team relocated their sleeping quarters from the Bus to the old S.S.R. base. It was barely a step from sneaking into–with progressively less stealth as time went on–each other's bunks during the night, as they still practically shared a living space with the others, but it was a step nonetheless. Because from now on they would officially share a bed (he was kind of looking forward sleeping without stuffing two people into a space barely fit for one) and a laundry basket, his dress shirts would hang alongside with her blouses in the closet, and they could get on each other's nerves with leaving their stuff all over the room. Even if they still had to share the bathroom with the person in the room over.

Finishing with the T-shirts, he closed the drawer and turned back towards the bed, where the rest of their boxes and bags waited to be unpacked. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips for a moment. It was not a big pile–even with the one box Skye was still away filling with things she had left lying around in the Bus's lounge area and the lab–; they just both had been living a life, almost always on the move, where accumulating personal belongings was both difficult and inconvenient. But he would have been lying to himself if he said he didn't want to change that now–he not-so-secretly longed for small, frivolous things like framed pictures and throw pillows that horribly clashed with the bedsheets, and the thought that that kind of life–a semi-normal life with Skye, without secret agendas and handlers–was now actually within reach thrilled him.

Taking a deep breath, he mentally shook himself and reached for the small pile of cloth bags, containing his suits, that lay on the bed–but as he leaned forward to grab the hangers, something caught his eye. Right next to the cloth bags lay one of Skye's boxes, the top closed so haphazardly that the flaps partially opened, letting something red and gold peek out from the depths of the cardboard box. He stopped mid-movement and blinked. He wasn't one to snoop (at least not off the clock), but that flash of color intrigued him, because it looked like nothing he'd known Skye owned, and he'd seen pretty much all of her possessions by then. And even though he didn't want Skye to think that he was spying on her (which would have been the height of irony), it wasn't like… well, it wasn't like she was exactly trying to hide it, and they were going to share a room, after all. So, still feeling a little bit like a kid about to snatch a cookie from the cookie jar, he reached for the flaps of the box, having decided to take a peek.

But before he could have opened the box, there was a… scratching, for the lack of better word, at the door, making him turn towards the source of the noise. Which came again, with a tremble of the handle, the next moment. With an amused smile on his face, he crossed over to the door and opened it.

Skye stood there on the threshold, with an enormous cardboard box filled with various objects in her hands, her lanyard between her teeth, while, apparently, she'd been trying to open the door with her elbow. He looked down at her, chuckling.

"Did you get anything you wanted?" he asked with a teasing edge in his voice as he took the box from her; one fleeting glance was enough to see that most of the contents of the box–like cushions form the lounge and that throw blanket he had used to leave out for her on the back of couch–didn't actually belong to her.

"Please," she said, taking the lanyard from her mouth and tossing it to the top of the dresser. "It's not like anyone's gonna miss them. Or that S.H.I.E.L.D. accounting will come to breath down on my neck for… _misplacing_ some items. It's like taking the robe from a hotel."

Not having the heart to argue with her, he just put down the box on the end of the bed. "At least the room'll have some character."

"And it'll feel just a little bit like home," she said with just a hint of melancholy in her voice, then stepped to the box he'd just put down, dug into it, and threw two cushions into the old armchair standing in the corner. "And how does packing going?"

"Going along," he shrugged, then passed behind her–placing his hands on her hips for a moment–and reached for his suits again. "I don't think we'll have a problem, at least as far as storage place goes," he added as he started hanging the bags one by one.

"At least we'll then have space for new stuff," she smiled at him as she opened another box and started pulling out books–mostly his, he realized–out of it.

He returned her smile; he could always count on her to see the bright side of everything, and that was one of the things he loved about her. Having had finished with the suits, he turned back to the bed, looking for the next thing to unpack (maybe he should go with her dresses? Since he was already working on the closet, and, apparently, she saw no problem in unpacking his books), but then that red-and-gold flash caught his eye again.

Well, curiosity killed the cat, after all.

"Skye," he started, straightening up. She stopped arranging their books on the top of the dresser and turned towards him expectantly. "I don't want to meddle in your business–"

"It's a shame–usually I enjoy when you meddle with my business," she cut in with a wink, making him chuckle. _Vixen_.

"Point taken. Anyway, I just wanted to ask," his eyes wandered to the box in question one last time, "what's in that?"

There was a beat of silence before she answered. "Oh, that," she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. He could see her flushing just a little bit. "It, erm…" Then she cleared her throat, then tried again, still sounding a bit shy. "Promise me you won't laugh?"

"I won't, but why?" he asked, taking a tentative half-step toward her.

"It's just…" she trailed off, then took a deep breath, and continued in a more determined tone, "Do you remember when we first met, you said that I was just… What did you say? Just one of those cosplay girls in front of Stark Tower?"

The corner of his mouth turned upward at the memory.

"Something along those lines. And if I remember well, you tried to deny it."

"Yeah, well, you were bit of an asshole, but a hot one, so of course I tried to deny it," she stuck her tongue out at him. "Anyway–you were right." She let out a heavy breath and pointed at the box. "And there it is."

"What?" He blinked, then chuckled, then took half a step towards the box, not really understanding at first what she was hinting at. But then he got it, and from then on he was busy trying to process the absurdity of the fact that his frustrated, half-assed insult during their first meeting–when he'd barely known her for an hour, and she had already gotten under his skin and he just couldn't tolerate it–had actually hit home. "So it's your…"

"Iron Man–no, more like Iron Maiden? Hell, no–Iron Girl? Let's just stick to Stark armor cosplay. But yes. And a skimpy one, that is." She crossed over to him. "But you know what? I refuse to feel insecure about it. Because, for one thing, I have a lot of work in that cosplay. And for another," reaching him, she slipped her hands into the back pocket of his jeans and looked up at him with that mischievous little smirk of hers, "I looked super hot in it."

Yeah, he could… His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed. He could imagine that. In fact, he could imagine that very vividly, and he hadn't even seen the actual costume yet. He could practically see her, standing in front of Stark Tower in the summer heat, the light reflected from the building's glass surface shining on her, her… various, uncovered parts glistening with sweat as she animatedly talks with the other Iron Man-fans there about the man's newest inventions, smiling, her lips ever so sweet and inviting…

"Will you show it to me?" he blurted out before his mind could have given explicit permission to his mouth to speak.

Skye pulled away from him for a moment, looking up at him and blinking in puzzlement, then laughed out loud, a tinkling, joyful sound.

"I thought you hated cosplay?" she asked teasingly, playfully tugging him closer by the belt loops on his jeans. "Because the last time you spoke about it, you sounded–"

Her sentence was cut short as he suddenly cupped her face in his hands and silenced her with a quick kiss.

"I love you," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "Every side of you. And I really, really want to see you in that thing."

He could almost feel her grin against his lips as she answered. "And the thought of me in a skimpy dress makes you hot."

Chuckling, he kissed her nose. "That too." There was no point in denial; she knew him way too well for that. "Just like everything about you."

Biting into her lower lip in a way that should have been illegal, she looked up at him from under her lashes, considering, and, no doubt, already planning all the ways she could torture him (he couldn't wait).

"Alright," she said at last. "I'll put it on for you–but at first," she looked around the room, "let's take care of this mess. So, you know," she slipped her fingertips under his shirt at the small of his back, tracing the line of the waist of his jeans that left no doubt about what was going on in her head, "we can make a mess later."

He really liked her way of thinking.

* * *

"Are you done yet?"

"Almost! It has a bunch of… stuff, you know!"

"Do you need some help?"

"Ha!" He didn't need to see her; he could practically _hear_ the mischievous grin she must have had on her face in her voice. "Dream on. Just a moment, you just sit tight until then!"

Chuckling to himself Grant kicked off his shoes, then leaned back a little as he sat on the end of the bed and looked around. Two hours later the room was, for the lack of a better word, finished–they had neatly packed all of their stuff away in the limited space that somehow still felt a little spacious, and made it somehow, sort of, _theirs_. It didn't feel like home exactly just yet, but it certainly had the workings of that, with the little, personal touches they had added to the uniform room–the slightly faded afghan spread carefully on the bed, her hula doll on the dresser, pictures tacked to the wall above the bed, and the book he was currently reading on the nightstand on what had now become his side of the bed.

It wasn't home yet, but he had a feeling it could become that with time.

"Okay," he heard her voice coming the other side of the closed bathroom door, instantly making him perk up and sit up straight. "I'm ready."

"Then come out already!" he called to her, eyes glued to the bathroom door as it opened slightly with a low creak.

"Drumroll please!" she stretched the moment, teasing him and making him chuckle as he edged still closer to the edge of the bed.

The next moment she slowly slid her leg through the opening, her knee bent slightly, her foot arched, the toes pointing downwards–a move that was surely meant to be sexy and seductive, although the picture was slightly tainted by the neon green nail polish on the toes of her bare foot. As his gaze moved upwards, something red and gold caught his eyes, just above her ankle, making him chuckle harder–she was wearing some kind of leggings, the material clinging to her legs (a rather pleasant sight, he'd admit), printed in a way to mimic Stark's armor.

Opening the door wider–and stumbling and giggling a little as she first put her foot down, her coordination and seduction skill still in need of polishing–, she stepped out and stood in front of him, letting him to appreciate her costume in its entirety.

His gaze moving upwards, he took her in thirstily, his mouth going dry and desire stirring in his veins. The printed leggings, the design neat and the shading giving it an almost three-dimensional feel, reached to just under her belly button, the clingy material emphasizing her curves in the best possible way. The costume left her midsection bare, the sight of the silky skin of her abdomen calling to him tauntingly. Above that she wore a handmade, faux armor, painted red and gold, made of some kind of pliable-looking material, layers and layers of it glued together and molded to her figure, so the top, reaching barely under her breasts, accentuated her curves. She also had some kind of makeshift gauntlets on–red, fingerless gloves topped with the same material as her armor, also mimicking the gauntlets of the Iron Man suit. And, for the sake of accuracy, he guessed, she had tiny LED lights installed on her palms and on the center of her chest that were flashing with weak, bluish light in the slightly dim room.

All in all, he was rather impressed. For several reasons.

"So?" she asked, smiling, as she slowly turned around so he could see the suit from every angle. "What do you think?"

Quite honestly, he was speechless. She was so, so… very much. Beyond words. Or at least beyond his capacity to form words.

"Come here," he said instead, his voice hoarse, as he stood and beckoned her to come closer. She did, and he met her halfway, slipping his hands on her waist. She looked up at him expectantly, and he could barely keep himself from bending down and kissing her, devouring her then and there.

"So?" she repeated in a teasing tone, very well aware of what she was doing to him. She took his hand and slipped her fingers into his. "What's the verdict?"

Up close, he could see the imperfections of the costume–the cut was uneven in some places, the paint was chipping, but he couldn't care less. She was _breathtaking_.

"You really went to Stark Tower wearing this?" he asked instead of answering straight, as he slowly started backing towards the bed, pulling her along gently.

"Yeah," she replied, drawing the word out. "You have a problem with that?"

"No. Yes." The back of his knees hitting the end of the bed, he plopped down, sitting on the edge of the mattress and making the pillow bounce slightly. Skye giggled as he pulled her even closer, so she stood between his legs. "Yes, I have a problem with that–that I wasn't there."

"Aww," she drawled, looking down at him with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Jealous much?"

"Not really," he admitted, slipping his arms around her waist, leaning forward and nuzzling his face against her stomach, just below the armor. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent in. "Envious, more like." He closed his eyes as he felt her slip her hands into his hair, the tips of her fingers lovingly caressing his scalp. "I wish I had been there with you. See you cheer and go crazy. You must have been a sight," he said without a drop of sarcasm; she had a twinkle in her eyes whenever she talked about something she was passionate about–he discovered it in the very beginning, in the lounge of the Bus, when she told him about how the pieces could solve the puzzle–, a twinkle he loved, and he could imagine her out there in front of Stark Tower, being so excited and happy that the air around her _tingled_. That, toppled with _this_ costume–this amazing, tantalizing costume that was driving him crazy–really made him wish he had known her sooner and had been there with her to share the experience with her. And to tear her clothes off afterwards, of course.

"So I take you like my cosplay?" she asked, tugging playfully at his hair. "C'mon, Agent Ward, admit it! It can't hurt that much. Just admit that cosplaying is amazing and it makes you hot and–ah!"

Her sentence was cut short first be a surprised shriek, then by laughter, as at one point during her little monologue he swiftly slid his hands down her ass, slipping them under her, then gave her a sudden yank, pulling her upward and forward as he lay back on the bed, pulling her above him, until she was straddling him, her knees on the mattress, her core pressing against him just a little bit above the point he really wanted her, supporting herself on her hands on both sides of his head, her hair falling forward like a curtain, shielding everything from his view but her face.

"Wow," she giggled, rising slightly and pushing her hair to the side. "You'll really have to teach me this move, it was–"

He didn't let her finish the sentence–he rose with her, taking her face in his hands and capturing her mouth as he pulled her back down, his fingers slipping into her hair. He kissed her long and deep, almost impatient, sucking on her lower lip, then tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue, asking for entrance, which she gave willingly,

"Your costume," he said, panting, his gaze fixed on her glistening, kiss-swollen lips, "is amazing. I love it." He tried to dive for her lips again, but she pulled back, stopping him.

"So are you willing to take back your earlier judgement and admit that cosplaying in itself, the whole thing, is cool?" she taunted him, always moving backwards just a little when he tried to reach for her. "Will you?"

Honestly, he would have agreed to murder right then if that meant she let him kiss her again.

"Of course," he nodded eagerly, reaching for her again, "it's amazing and–" she stopped him mid-sentence–and mid-movement–, placing her finger on his lips with a mischievous glint in her eyes that told him that a twist was coming–a twist that she'd thoroughly enjoy.

"So the next time we're free, will you come with me to a con? In cosplay and everything, the whole nine yards?"

Even he had his limits.

"Skye…" he started a little indignantly, maybe even whining a little, sliding his hands down on her sides. (He kind of hoped that some gentle… _persuasion_ would do the trick, making her forget the whole issue.)

She caught his wrist before he could have gotten to the exciting parts.

"Will you, or will you not, Agent Ward?" she demanded in a voice that left no doubt about how much she enjoyed playing with him. "I need to hear something akin to a promise."

A low growl tore from his throat in defeat as he closed his eyes and let his head drop back.

"Okay," he said a moment later, rising his head and moving impatiently towards her, "I'll go with you wherever you want, wear whether you want, just let me touch you."

This time she didn't pull away.

"Now we're talking," she chuckled, leaning forward and welcoming his kiss that had somehow grown even hungrier than the previous.

He kissed her fervently, slipping his tongue into her mouth, seeking hers out to engage in a wild dance. She moaned into his mouth and ground her hips down, making him lose his mind. He put his hands on her arms, just below the shoulder plates of her armor, and rubbed them, his thumb digging into her flesh, before he slid his hands down to the small of her back, his fingertips exploring the bumps and dips of her spine, before slipping forward so he could grab her waist.

Then he flipped her over with one swift move.

Now, with her on her back and he above her, he cupped her face as she laughed and kissed her again, quickly, on the lips, once, twice, three times, before rising up to look into her eyes.

"As much as I love this costume," he told her, sounding a little short of breath, "it has to go now."

"I couldn't agree more," she answered with a cheeky grin, propping herself up her elbows as he sat up.

Having her consent, he climbed off of her for a moment and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her leggings, pulling them off, along with her panties, quickly and not too gracefully, the garments getting stuck at her left foot for a moment, and only coming off after some tugging that made her chuckle once again. Once they were off, he threw them to the general direction of the armchair in the corner, then stood up, and let his gaze roam over her form for a moment–over her long, lean legs, the inviting hips, the expanse of skin of her abdomen, that _damn_ armor that was still covering her breasts…

"Hey, stud," she chuckled, opening her legs just a little wider to tease him, "has your software gone kaput? Do I need to reboot you?"

That helped him to shake his daze off. "No need for that," he said as he pulled his T-shirt through his head in a hurry. "I was just admiring the view," he added as he moved to take off his pants, but, thanks to his impatience and vehemence, he managed to get his foot tangled in the leg of his jeans and lose his balance, so he almost ended up on the floor, and it was only thanks to some very unelegant, one-legged hopping that he managed to stay standing, which only made Skye laugh harder.

"I'm honestly just about to revoke your superspy status," she grinned, inching backwards on the bed so she'd be closer to the center of the mattress, and expertly peeling off the gloves. "Because this was very un-superspy-y."

"Oh, I'll give you…" he threatened her playfully once his last piece of clothing hit the floor, then, with a half-menacing, half-amused grin on his face, he jumped on the bed at her feet, almost like a jaguar pouncing on his prey, making her squeal and try to pull her legs away from him. Only he was faster and caught her ankle, holding her leg steady as he leaned over it and pressed a kiss to her shin, just above her ankle, opening his lips slightly and teasing her skin with the tip of his tongue, before moving upward, kissing her just under her knee next. She stopped struggling instantly, and the little, needy moan she gave him as he kissed her inner thigh, swirling his tongue around in circles, set his body aflame and made his already hard cock twitch in anticipation.

Having reached the apex of her thighs, he gently, teasingly parted her lips and tasted her, making her gasp and arch her back as he pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit. She was already wet and dripping so much that two of his fingers slid easily inside of her, massaging her walls as he imagined how it'd feel to actually slip into her now.

He knew from the way her breathing was growing erratic and her walls were tightening around his fingers that it wouldn't take long to get her off, but currently he had no intentions of doing that–he had something else in mind.

So with one last, long lick at her center, he moved upwards once again, pressing his lips against the swell of her pubic bone, swirling his tongue around in the dip of her navel then drawing a line with it from there to her sternum, until he reached the edge of her armor.

That was when he stumbled upon a slight problem.

"How the…" he started, then trailed off, as he ran his hands over the armor (he _hated_ that he couldn't actually feel her breasts under his palms) for about the eighth time, still not finding any opening mechanism. It was almost as if she was just sewn into the costume. "How does this thing come off?"

Skye chuckled as she sat up and beckoned him to lean closer. "I told you it had a bunch of… _stuff_ " she said, her mouth mere millimeters away from his, her eyes flickering to his lips. "I'll tell you how. Start with the shoulder plates!" she instructed him, taking his wrist and guiding his hand to the edge of the left shoulder plate.

He slipped his fingers under it, started pulling, and felt the plate give away right away with a low, ripping sound–the sound of Velcro coming undone. Having realized what was keeping the armor together–and that he most likely couldn't actually damage it this way–, he grew bolder and ripped the plate off, then did the same with the other one as well. The plates off, now he could see the small squares of Velcro glued to the material at about her collarbone (he couldn't see them, but he knew that their counterparts were there on the backside as well), and the thin, black straps that held the costume up and that had been hidden until then.

"Okay, now the left side…" she told him, now drawing his hand to her left side, just under her arm. Now he knew what he was supposed to be looking for, so he slipped the tips of his fingers between two plates of the armor right away, pulling them away from each other and feeling a certain kind of satisfaction as he heard the Velcro give away.

He opened the side of the costume all the way down, working slowly, millimeter by millimeter, just to tease her, just the draw out the moment. Once he was done, the sides of the armor parted, he pulled the front part away from her body, his fingers skimming along the side of her breast, eliciting a sigh from her, then lifted the armor, pulling it over her head in one smooth and sexy move.

Or at least he wished he did.

"Auch!" she hissed as the armor got tangled up in her hair. "Careful!"

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, trying to help her, only to make matters worse by getting her arm trapped as well. "I'll get you out of it, just keep still..."

"Okay," she chuckled as he freed her hair, tossing her long locks behind her shoulder, which made him chuckle as well, and when the armor finally did come off–he dropped it by the bed unceremoniously–and their eyes met, they fell silent for a moment, then started chuckling even harder at the absurdity of the situation, at the fact that they were acting like some teenagers fooling around after prom.

But the moment lasted only until his gaze drifted downward to her bare breasts, full and inviting, her nipples hardened to pebbles.

His mouth pulled into a smug smirk.

"You've been expecting this," he said, noting her lack of any undergarment.

Her smirk matched his as she said, "I might have." She put her hands on his shoulders, then leaned back, pulling him over her while slipping her hands up his neck, caressing him just behind his ears. "You're kinda predictable this way."

"Was that a complaint?" he asked as he settled between her legs.

"Not at all. Now come here and kiss me."

And he did, settling above her, his elbows on both side of her head as he felt her wrap her legs around his waist. He kissed her slowly at first, teasing her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth, then slipping his tongue between her lips for a moment, before moving downward. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, to her neck, then sucked at her collarbone, before finally finding her breasts. Cupping her left one in his hand, pinching the nipple between his fingers, he took her other nipple into his mouth, playing with the little, hardened nub with the tip of his tongue, before taking it between his teeth and pulling at it gently, the way he knew it drove her crazy. The soft, mewling sounds she made spurred him on, making his dick twitch impatiently as she slid her hands into his hair, keeping his head down.

"Have you realized..." she said in a breathless voice, her words trailing off.

"What?" he asked, not even raising his head and only letting go of her nipple while he spoke, then he was right back at teasing her. He _loved_ teasing her, playing with her.

"That... oh, yes, keep doing that... that it's the first time we're doing it here... In our own room... oh... in our own bed."

That had him stop for a moment. He raised his head and looked into her eyes, feeling the gravity of her words for the first time.

With one swift move he was up at her eye level again, his lips on hers as he kissed her deeply, with intent and meaning, telling her everything he was unable to express with words.

"And here it is to the many returns of the occasion," he told when he broke the kiss, caressing her face with his thumbs.

"I love the way you're thinking," she smiled at him in a way that he just had to kiss her again.

"Are you ready?" he asked her when the kiss ended, a hand slipping between their bodies to seek out her core, his fingers slipping experimentally into her, finding her hot and slick with wetness.

She tilted her hips to force him deeper into her, her eyes fluttering closed. "You need to ask?"

He chuckled at her comment, at her unabashed brazenness, before he stole one last, eager kiss and he withdrew his fingers. Then he took his member into his hand, and, placing the tip at her entrance, he guided himself into her.

He loved watching her face as he entered her; he loved seeing the pure ecstasy on her features, the way her lips slightly parted as a sigh escaped her, the way her cheeks flushed just a little bit deeper, the way her eyelids fluttered, as if her body couldn't decide whether to keep her eyes open or close them… Watching her was almost as good as actually slipping into her, and that… That was heavenly. He groaned, the sound tearing free from the depths of his throat as he sank into her, inch by inch, stretching her, her muscles fluttering to accommodate him, her warm walls engulfing him, feeling as if his body was merging with hers, as if they were becoming one.

It felt like coming home.

Once fully sheathed inside of her, he stilled for a moment, letting her adjust, his face nuzzled against her neck, inhaling her scent in as he tried to keep himself together. Then he started moving, pulling out slowly it first, then plunging back in, pacing himself guided by sighs and mewls and moans, and the way her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to her, and the way her nails dug into his biceps and back, urging him to go faster and harder, wanting _more_. He hiked her legs higher to change the angle, driving even deeper into her and hitting a spot that made her scream.

He felt as if his body was ablaze, as if he was about to come undone by the seams; she had driven him crazy, driven him right to the edge, and when he closed his eyes, he saw nothing but her in that costume, the leggings emphasizing her legs and ass the best possible way, her abdomen inviting him to kiss and lick, the armor hiding what he wanted to see the most… He couldn't think of anything but _her her her_ , her under him, her around him, present in every pore and cell and atom of him.

He knew he couldn't last long, not the way she had worked him, but he refused to come before her and leave her behind, frustrated and unfinished, so he reached between their bodies and sought out her clit, first pushing against that bundle of nerves, then drawing rough, hurried circles into it, urging her along. She let out a drawn out, low moan and arched her back, which allowed him to hit a particularly sensitive spot with his next stroke, making her scream his name.

"Did you like that?" he asked her, panting, giving her a pointed thrust.

"Yes, oh… Yes!" she moaned, throwing her head back as she raised a hand to her breast and started fondling it, pinching the nipple between her fingers. "Please…"

She didn't need to tell him what she wanted; he knew anyway. He started moving even faster, making the bed rock and her breasts bounce as he drove deep into her again and again, feeling her walls tighten around him.

A hand gripping her upper thigh, he pressed his face against her neck, and breathed to her ear, "Come for me. Let me feel you quiver," then lightly bit her where her neck and shoulder met, right at the spot he knew would make her lose her mind. "Come for me, baby."

That did it, because the next moment her body locked up and her mouth opened to a silent scream as her back arched off the bed and her walls started fluttering around him in a mad rhythm, forcefully, as if she never wanted to let him go.

Her climax triggered his–slipping his fingers between hers, he gave her a couple last, punctuated, deep thrusts, then, color bursting in front of his eyes and his muscles flexing, he came with a low groan, spilling himself deep inside her in hot spurts.

When his orgasm ended and his body relaxed–he could still feel her spasm weakly around him–, completely spent, he let his body fall to the side, pulling out of her and lying on his back next to her, his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. A moment later he could feel the mattress dip and she turned toward him, throwing a leg over his, laying an arm across his stomach and resting her head on his chest. Taking a deep breath to inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo, he absent-mindedly put his hand on her back and started drawing nonsensical patterns into her skin, which she rewarded with a content sigh.

It took him a while to gather enough willpower to open his eyes; when he did, all he saw was the ceiling–the drab, cement ceiling of their room.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked a moment later, her voice soft and content as she pulled a fingertip up from his navel to his sternum.

"That we have a crack on the ceiling," he answered without thinking about it, which made her chuckle into his chest.

"Wow," she giggled, crawling on top of him. "Way to kill the mood, Agent Ward."

"Sorry," he replied, taking her face into his hands and pulling her down to him. "That was the least of my intentions," he said before kissing her softly. "I'd really like to keep this mood alive."

"Good answer," she nodded, then leaned in for another kiss, hers a little bolder than his.

"Why, what were you thinking about?"

She sat up, straddling his waist, and looked down at him with such a mischievous glint in her eyes that he knew right away he shouldn't have asked that.

"About what cosplay should I make you wear. I'm kind of vacillating between Captain America and Hawkeye, but thinking about it now, I'm rather leaning toward a post-transformation Hulk–that'd mean less fuss about the clothes, you know?"

He groaned at hearing that, mostly for show, but didn't protest a bit when she leaned in and pressed her lips against his again.

He could live with making a bit of an idiot of himself if it made her happy–and if it meant that he got to see her wear her costume again.

* * *

 **A/N:** The leggings mentioned in the story exist–I saw them on eBay, and they cost like ten bucks. Skye's armor is supposed to be made from EVA foam–it's a frequently used cosplay material, similar to the material of yoga mats. It's relatively cheap and easy to work with–you can cut it with scissors, and although we usually temper it with heat (but a hairdryer will do for that) and finish it with wood glue, the simple EVA, cut from the sheet would be sufficient to make a cosplay–meaning Skye could've done it even in her van.


End file.
